


and the walls kept tumbling down

by bookhobbit



Series: Superdisc! [3]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's been burning up bits of Ankh-Morpork, and it's up to The Watchman, former police officer and very reluctant superhero, to find out who. Ideally, without actually dying in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the walls kept tumbling down

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in November 2014 and last edited it June 2015. So, um. I don't know why I didn't post it then? I guess I just wanted to do more with it and never did. It was at the time the longest thing I'd ever finished, though, and I still think that's a noteworthy endeavor, and someone on tumblr poked me gently about it, so here. Finally the next installment of the Superdisc! 'verse. Do bear in mind that this is a bit old, though, and I haven't thoroughly reread it for typos, so let me know if there's anything.
> 
> I've got a Rincewind one too that may get fixed up and edited if it seems like a good idea.

It was all getting too big. Vimes reflected on that as he gazed around his spare, undecorated new office. He hadn't been sure about the wisdom of an actual secret base - it sounded like something out of a bad novel - but Vetinari had insisted that all of them needed somewhere to meet.

All of them was quite a lot these days, too. Colon and Nobby had joined up, heaven knew why, probably out of loyalty to Vimes; they weren't much on patrol, but Colon made a decent cup of tea and Nobby had his ear on the street and a number of connections with the kind of very minor criminals who could reliably be bribed into informing. They had their uses.

And there were more joining, not from his police station. An ape had turned up the other day - definitely not a monkey, that was for sure - holding a book thief by the ankles and saying 'ook' a lot. It - or, Vimes supposed, he - had managed to get across that he wanted to join the Guard.

Vimes would have objected more strongly if the ape hadn't used the training dummy to demonstrate his ability to twist the head clean off a man. That was a useful quality in a fight.

There were others. Few so strange, except possibly Zombie, a former coworker of Vimes' who had decided to rejoin the old gang and help them out in their new endeavor. That would all have been very well and good were it not for the fact that he had initially left the old gang via being shot six times and left to die.

He said it was all down to necromancy. Vimes didn't like to ask. Good officer, though, nobody like Reg Shoe at your back for really knocking down the enemy's morale.

Soon they'd be big enough and obvious enough to hire Cheri away, and then things would be easier. They needed a forensic investigator. Vimes was uneasy about becoming something so much like an unofficial police force, though. There was definitely a miscarriage of justice going on in this city on a daily basis, but were they the ones to correct? And, anyway, who was Vetinari to be bossing them around?

His eyes, skimming his office idly, alighted on the telephone.

Ah, yes. The telephone.

It had been Carrot's suggestion.

"We have a secret base, sir," he'd said. "I'm sure it ought to be easy enough to arrange a telephone service to it. People ought to be able to contact us when they need help."

"And you'll give out our number to strangers on the street, will you?" Vimes had said.

"Oh, no, sir, I was thinking posters."

It had taken some time to talk him out of that. 

He'd won the battle over the phone, though, in the end.

In a twist which Vimes could only think of as deeply narrative, the phone began to ring. Before he could get to it, though, it was answered on one of the upstairs lines. He pulled his trenchcoat on and hurried up.

"Car- er, Captain Justice?" Vimes said, wincing as the said it. Carrot had been an excellent policeman, was now an excellent superhero, and had absolutely awful taste in names. "What've we got?"

"Fire, sir," said Carrot. "We're heading out. I sent Lady Lupine ahead to get the measure of the situation, but I knew you'd want to be involved, so I waited for you."

"Right."

"I think it would be better if we flew, sir," Carrot added.

"What? No-"

But Carrot had already grabbed Vimes and flew him up the trapdoor and out into the sky. Vimes closed his eyes and tried not to be sick. He really, really hated being flown; for one thing, it made him feel like he was the one being rescued rather than the rescuer, and for another, it made him queasy. Humans weren't meant to be up so high under their own power, mankind's dreams of flight be damned.

It was quick, though. They got to the fire only just after Angua, appeared, wolf-shaped and running fast.

A row of houses along the edge of Cheap Street was burning merrily. Carrot set Vimes down and flew the window of a rickety apartment at the end of the row. Angua had dashed into the door of another.

He stopped to get his bearings. Was...was that someone in the sky flying around? Another hero - if so why weren't they helping? He heard a couple of kids screaming and his head whipped round.

Of course. Which house? Ah, yes, third from the left, second floor, damn it. There were heads in the window, too distant to see properly. Vimes took a deep breath and ran into the house.

It was still hard to see inside, what with the smoke, but that wasn't a problem. Unconsciously, he touched the mark on his arm as he navigated towards the stairs which, fortunately, weren't on fire. Yet. He took another deep breath of suffocatingly hot air and ran up the stairs.

The hallway was an inferno, and he couldn't tell which door the kids were in - there were three, which one, which one...had to be pretty hot or they could have got out, then - yes, probably the one nearest the flame, because this couldn't be easy, could it, otherwise they wouldn't need superheroes. Feeling lightheaded already, he took another breath, nearly choked on the smoke. All right, then, time to act.

Vimes kicked the chosen door several times, heavy boots thudding against the wood, inhaling through his sleeve. After the fourth kick it collapsed inward with a muffled _crack._

It was the right one, thank gods: two small children, boy and a girl, still standing at the window and yelling. Well, good on them, get noticed and get rescued. At least there were just the two of them. His face and arms felt like they were on fire, but that would soon be considerably more literal if they didn't get out of here soon.

The kids turned as he entered the room. "Is there another exit?" he said.

The girl - who looked older - shook her head. "Only downstairs."

"All right." He checked outside the door; it still didn't look safe, but maybe - the window?

He peered out it was a couple of stories; not safe to jump, but... Yes, bedsheets on the bed. It wouldn't be enough, but falling six feet was far better than falling twenty feet, and far better than burning to death.

"All right," he said again, knotting sheets furiously. "I'm going to lower each of you down, okay? You're going to have to jump the last little bit."

"You can't fly?" asked the girl, scrunching her nose in confusion.

"Er...no."

"How come you're a superhero if you can't fly?"

"Is this is really the time to have this conversation?" he said as he tied the makeshift rope around her waist. "You've got to get out."

"Yes, but how will you get out?"

"I'll...think of something."

He hadn't actually been thinking about that - he'd been going too fast. Well, perhaps he could tie the rope to the bedstead. He'd come to that when he'd got the kids safe.

He lowered the girl carefully as far as she could go, and then - ah, yes, excellent, Angua was there - human, and ready to catch any falling kids. "Untie your rope," he called to the girl, "The nice lady will catch you."

When he'd got the girl safely to the ground, he tied the rope around her brother, who was beginning to cry. Vimes grimaced. It wasn't that he could blame the kid, it was just that he wasn't good at this.

"My throat hurts," the boy said, sniffling.  

"It'll be better in a minute. Come on, then. Just need to get you out of here and you'll be all right."

"And I'm scared."

"Your sister was fine, see?" said Vimes,, gesturing to the window. "Nothing to worry about." He didn't have any experience with children, and he wasn't sure how you went about telling a small child that he'd have to face his fears or else die.

"Can you fly me?"

Vimes sighed in spite of the smoke. "I can't fly. But there's a nice lady to catch you. Look. She'll make sure you're safe." He gently lowered the child down, prompting an outburst of wailing. Vimes winced, but paid the rope out to the bottom until the boy was safely in Angua's grasp. Some superhero. Rescue small child, leave him crying.

Any other people in the building? He wanted to check the other doors, but the hallway was a solid wall of flame, which also eliminated the possibility of going out the door.

Okay. The window was right there. They kids'd done it all right. Was there anything he could tie the rope to? If he pulled the bed -

There was a crack and the ceiling started to fall in. He ran towards the window - jumping would be better than getting a faceful of flame - but he couldn't get there fast enough and something came falling at him.

It must have hit him, because everything went dark.

  


When Vimes woke up, he was expecting: a) flaming inferno which would shortly cause him to depart this mortal vale; b) another flaming inferno that meant he had already departed this mortal vale, i.e., hell, although he'd also heard stories of hell being cold, so he wasn't placing any bets either way; or c) some sort of soft music and lights combination which would indicate that he'd somehow made it into heaven, probably due to a clerical error.

What he got was much closer to option c), in that it was not any kind of flaming inferno. This was a bit of a surprise, he thought, dreamy with lassitude and in stuck in that not-quite-awake state where you are prepared to accept anything as the truth. He hadn't thought of heaven as having cool sheets and what felt like a cloth on his brow, though, which it apparently did. Well, it beat the hell out of hell, that was the important part. He opened his eyes.

It seemed to be someone's room, whatever it was. He'd also never thought of heaven as having anything like your ordinary earthly rooms. This was a pretty posh-looking room, hough, as ordinary earthly ones went. It had paintings on the wall and such. That probably meant heaven, because Vimes didn't know anyone with enough extra money to actually decorate.

Vimes tried to sit up.

Okay. _Definitely not heaven._  Every part of him hurt. Was this actually hell, using some very strange form of torture he was not familiar with?

...he was still alive. That had to be the answer. If he didn't have a mortal body, it couldn't possibly be causing him as much pain as he was currently in.

"Ow," he said aloud, and blinked a few times. "Whose bed am I in?" he added, looking around. He definitely didn't know anyone with this level of house. There was actual wallpaper, and he was lying in a four-poster bed with what felt like much nicer sheets than he could have afforded. They were a delicate white that said they got washed with other white things and bleach and never, for instance, tossed in with the red underpants to make a full load. And touching them was an education in richness; they felt like water between his hands.

The door flew open and a woman bustled in, startling him out of his reverie. "Oh, you're awake!" she exclaimed. "Jolly good. Was afraid you'd sleep the whole day away, not that you didn't earn it. Very brave of you, all that rescuing children and so forth. Here, I've made you breakfast." She plonked a tray on his lap.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, madame," said Vimes stiffly, staring at her. She was taller than he was and bore a distinct resemblance to a Valkyrie. She also lacked eyebrows. "Er, were you in the fire too...?" he said.

"Oh no. I'm just a concerned citizen. I'm Lady Sybil. Ramkin, you know."

Vimes' eyes widened. Ramkin? No wonder this place was so posh! "Nice to meet you," he began uncertainly. "I'm - " A thought struck him and he patted his face desperately - his mask wasn't there! This woman had - wait, was he in his underwear?

"Madam," he said desperately, "Where are my clothes?"

"In the wash, what's left of them," said Lady Ramkin. "Had to attend to your burns. I'm afraid the trenchcoat didn't survive. I'm sure we've got an old one lying around the house, though. From my grandfather's day. I'll go and have a look at the attic. Just a moment, old chap."

"Er -" he began, but she bustled back out before he could ask any of the numerous other questions he had lying on the tip of his tongue.

Vimes lay back on the pillows. He really did hurt all over, and it was tiring even to sit up. He took inventory of his various limbs and found bandages and medical tape in quite a lot of areas, which made him a bit queasy. He wasn't squeamish, but the thought of coming so close to being burned to death...

Lady Sybil entered again, accompanied by a pile of clothes - and by Carrot. Vimes tried to sit up again, and winced. His position was undignified, but the pain was not worth the restoration of a bit of his pride. Anyway, when you'd been stripped to your underwear and had your wounds tended by an unfamiliar woman after passing out while trying to save someone, what was there left to be proud of?

"Good to see you awake, sir," said Carrot, waving at him.

"Thank you. Er. My clothes...?"

Lady Sybil put the pile on his bed. "Your mask didn't survive, I'm afraid," she said, "So I brought you a bandana to get you home. You can cut eyeholes in it if you like, or just wear it over your lower face. Don't worry. I don't recognize you, and if I do in future I won't say anything." She winked. Vimes stared at her. Was she...could she be...was - was she flirting? Surely not. But how else to explain the wink? And the smile?

He grabbed his clothing with a feeling of relief. Even holding his costume gave him a sense of greater security, which frankly spoke to how deep he was in these days. Lady Sybil gave him another smile and left him with Carrot to change.

"Carrot," said Vimes urgently when she'd gone, "Are the kids -"

"Fine, sir," said Carrot. "Barely a scratch on them, their parents are very grateful. You were very heroic."

"Well, good," said Vimes. "What happened to me, anyway? How'd I end up here? Last thing I remember was something conking me over the head."

"Yes, sir. A beam nearly fell on you. You were probably hit by some falling bits. I flew you out - Angua told me you were still in - "

"You had to rescue me?"

"Yes, sir, but it's all right," said Carrot encouragingly. "You saved the children. I wouldn't have been able to get to them in time, I'm sure."

Vimes frowned as he zipped up his suit. It probably wasn't important, but, well, he wished he could do the heroing without someone else having to hero over him. Perhaps he shouldn't be the leader of this enterprise. He didn't have any powers - well, he didn't have _many_  powers, not like Carrot...

"Thank you, Captain," said Vimes, and put on his trenchcoat.

The bandana wasn't the easiest mask he'd ever put on, but it worked.

"You haven't finished your breakfast, sir," said Carrot. Vimes looked at it guiltily. In fact he hadn't even started it, and it did look quite good. Exactly the sort of burnt crunchy bits he liked.

He was eating when Lady Sybil came back in and pressed a jar into his hand. "For your burns," she said. "It'll help. I use it often."

"You get burned much in your line of work?" he asked.

"Yes, if you're not careful." She touched the place where her eyebrows ought to be, perhaps unconsciously. "I raise dragons, you see."

"Dragons? Actual dragons?" Vimes raised his eyebrows which, like apparently everything else, caused immediate pain. He wondered if he was currently as eyebrow-bereft as Lady Sybil.

"Oh, yes, well, my father was a bit of a biological tinkerer. He thought it ought to be possible to create a lizard that breathed fire. And he did. Quite impressive, really. I care for them."

"Oh." What could you say to 'I raise dragons'? "Impressive. I...didn't know we had those in the city."

"Yes, well, I could show you any time you like," she said. "I often give tours to the curious. Are you finished with your tray? Good. All right, then."

"Thank you for your hospitality," said Vimes. "I really must be going."

"Don't forget your dashing mask," said Lady Sybil, with another smile, and showed him the door.

 

Achy and sore as he was, Vimes decided to stop by Cheri's lab on the way home. He'd rest easier if he knew she was on the case.

As it turned out, she was; the police had come to the crime scene after they'd left. She had information, also. "Unusual chemical compounds, sir," she explained, as they hovered in the alley where they met covertly.

"You've had time to run tests already?" How long had he been out?

"No, sir. Eyewitnesses. Colour of the flame was unusual. Could have been something in the buildings, I suppose."

"You don't think so?"

"I won't be sure till I do have time to do some tests, but probably no."

Vimes rubbed his chin. "Damn. I saw someone flying around in the distance when we were up there."

"Flying?"

"Yes. Jet pack." Vimes waved a hand. "I'll tell you, I didn't know half of the weird stuff going on in this city before I started this job."

"No, sir," said Cheri, smiling tiredly. "Do you think he set it?"

"Probably. Does that mean we've got someone flying around in the sky setting fire to the city?"

"Probably, yes. Sorry. It's like I said, I'll have to do some tests to be sure it's not from something in the buildings. On my own time, like as not, so I don't know how long it'll take. It's not that I mind doing work for you, but - "

"It eats up your time, I know. I'm sorry. We'll be able to hire you away soon, I think. Vetinari's been working on expansion."

Cheri nodded. "That's good to know. People here aren't very...they say things, they sometimes use the wrong pronouns. They're not very tolerant."

"No. No, I don't suppose they would be," said Vimes with a sigh. "They never have been. Never mind, we'll get you away soon and you'll be under my authority then. If anyone in the Guard gives you a hard time they'll have to answer to me."

She smiled. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."

"You should never have to thank anyone for protecting you from harassment," said Vimes.

"I know, sir, but I do appreciate it."

Vimes sighed. "I know. And it's not fair to you or to others in your position. Well, you'd better get back in, they'll be getting suspicious."

"Yes sir," said Cheri, and went inside, her sensible skirt swishing gently as she crossed the pavement. Vimes went home to bed. If a solid week or so of sleep couldn't cure his ills, maybe another solid couple of weeks could.

 

Vimes woke up. That sounded like the sort of calm, peaceful occurrence that wouldn't rate recording.  It's a step, not a process. You wake up, and then you go on to do other things.

In this case, that was not true. He woke up in stage, first opening his eyes and then closing them again, sitting up a bit and lying back down, wiggling a finger or two halfheartedly to see if there was any bit that didn't hurt.

His toes were okay. His feet hardly hurt at all, actually. That was nice because he strongly suspected he'd be using them a lot in the near future.

Legs? Yes, sore, but not bad.

Torso? Ow, ow, ow, got some burns there and the ribs are aching, go carefully.

Arms? Felt like lead and the hands were burnt, too.

His face had several batches of sore reddened skin, but since it mostly hurt to smile, he didn't think that would make much of a difference in his daily range of expressions. Not if things were going to go the way he expected them to.

Vimes sighed, and looked up at the ceiling.

"I'm not superpowered enough for this shit," he said, and went, slowly, painfully, to change his dressings.

He decided to go in after breakfast. He'd still got some paperwork to do and it seemed wise to do it while he was still too sore to get distracted by something more interesting.

Carrot saluted as he walked in. "You should be home, sir," he said.

"I'm fine. Feeling better." And he was, actually - not fine but definitely feeling better. The burns were as bad as he'd expected, but walking had helped the muscle soreness quite a bit, and his legs hardly hurt at all. His arms were easing up a bit, though his shoulder still felt like it'd been badly wrenched. He added, "Thought I'd come in and do a bit of paperwork."

Carrot would never have been skeptical, but he came as close as Vimes ever saw him. "Yes, sir," he said.

Vimes stumped on down to his office and shuffled through pay rosters for a while, signing things and checking others. There was quite a backlog of other stuff once he'd finished that. Pay rosters were important and got done on time, but the cease-and-desist letters from the police office were starting to pile up. Ought to do something about that, like send them all back with a note saying, "Do your job right and we'll stop doing ours." And then there were the reports…

Carrot came in about ten p.m. with news, dislodging Vimes from a fog of words

"I didn't want to tell you when you first came in, but there's been another incident." He held up a hand as Vimes started to rise. "Everyone got out safely. The fire brigade did an admirable job and put out the flames in time."

"What a change," said Vimes, shuffling some papers. "And? Was there a figure flying around with a flamethrower setting things on fire?"

Carrot stared. "How did you know that?"

"Well, I saw the flying-around bit last time. As for the other stuff, Cheri said the flame had some unusual chemical properties, and I said, what's the absolute most ridiculous reason I could think of for this? Person with flamethrower. Voila."

Carrot shook his head. "The papers are already calling him the Dragon."

Vimes signed another form. "Great, just what we need, another one with a name. Why the names, Carrot? Wouldn't this all be simpler if they behaved like regular criminals and we behaved like regular coppers?"

"Perhaps so, sir."

"I think it's the effect Snapcase has had on people. They get a bit odd. Stress."

"You think so?"

"I don't know. I just can't think of any better reason, and believe me, I'd like a better reason." Vimes made a face. "I mean, why else?"

"To make a name for themselves? Why do we have names, sir?"

"I don't know," said Vimes. "That's exactly my point. You just said it was the done thing, and I went along with you 'cos you know this business. I know coppering, you know this."

"For reputation, sir," said Carrot patiently. "Just like the costumes. The Watch isn't working, it's not run for the people, so we need something else. There's only twenty or so of us - "

"And so we need to be able to fool people into thinking we can keep the peace when in fact fifty of them with good solid weapons working together could kill us all, yes." Vimes sighed. "I understand that bit, it's all just so...silly."

Carrot shrugged. "It works, sir."

"Yes, but don't you think it encourages people like this Dragon? Do you think they'd be around if we weren't?"

"I don't know, sir, but I do know there's lots of people who wouldn't be around if we weren't, and that's good enough for me." Carrot's jaw had that firm set that meant he was Taking a Stand, and Vimes had learned not to argue with Taking a Stand, so he let it go.

"You may be right," he said. "Coffee? Did you have something else for me?"

"No, I just thought I'd ch-"

The phone rang. Vimes managed to get to it before Carrot. "Floating Guard. Yes, what's the address? Right, thank you." He turned to Carrot as he hung up. "He's out and about again."

"Sir, you can't go in - "

"I damn well can."

"You're injured."

"I'll be fine." Vimes tugged on his trenchcoat, trying not to wince, because if he did Carrot really would make him stay home. For someone with so much respect for authority, he had no problem undermining it in the interest of looking after Vimes' health.

Carrot bit his lip. "You can't do anything too dangerous. No more charging into burning buildings."

"I won't," Vimes promised, feeling like a teenager being allowed to go to a party and wondering when his life had become this. Not that charging into burning buildings was his idea of a good time.

"Let's get going," he said.

They flew, naturally. It was fine, in fact, because his legs weren't terrible, but if he was going to be doing any heroics he'd need to be in tip-top shape and it was easier to do that if you didn't have to run to a crime scene.

They needed some sort of transportation. Some sort of...Watchmobile. Could they do that? He made a note to himself to look into it when they got back. Maybe Vetinari would have an idea about it. Individual motorcycles, or something. He was really tired of arriving everywhere slightly green from being flown too high over the city. It could dispirit a man, and it didn't do anything for your reputation.

It was, of course, another fire. The difference was, they got there in time to see it being set.

To Vimes' chagrin, there was exactly what he'd been hoping to be wrong about: someone flying around with a flamethrower and a jetpack, setting things on fire. They were wearing a suit with scales on, maybe some sort of fire protection, but it really did make them look like a dragon. He despised encouraging people like that, but he could see where the press had got the name.

Carrot swooped towards the dragon as Vimes scrutinized them.

"Hang on, hang on, you've still got me, you can't attack him!" he yelled as he felt the increase in speed.

"I'm going to put you down on the roof, sir!"

"You - you what?"

"There's external stairs! You can get down and starting helping with the evacuation while I engage the hostile!"

This was in fact a sensible plan, Vimes thought as he landed and charged down the stairs, it was just that he hated it because it made him feel useless. No, saving lives wasn't useless, but he hated that he couldn't be up there, helping Carrot fight.

But there were people to save. That was the really important bit, anyway, he'd always known that, so he grabbed some citizens and started a bucket brigade. Someone's neighbor had a hose long enough to reach the front, someone else had been washing their car, a third person had a lot of buckets, and soon the chain was operating with efficiency. Between yelling instructions, Vimes caught children that Angua tossed down. She was in the burning house this time. It made sense - in wolf form she could jump out the window much easier, and she healed fast - but it was another example of how fragile he felt compared to all his people.

But the children were safe. The children were all safe, and so were their parents, and so were the old ladies living in the apartments next door. Vimes helped them down the stairs, rushing up and down and ignoring the pain in his arms when they gripped too tight.

Everyone got out. It was a happy ending. But Carrot still hadn't got back.

Angua, who had been carrying children down on her back, had had time to shift to human before Carrot came swooping in, staggering on the landing and nearly falling. Angua ran up to him, ready to steady him.

"You all right?" said Vimes, standing up.

"I'm fine. It was a bit messy there for a little while. I wasn't expecting him to be so strong."

"Good fighter, is he?"

"Reasonably. And he kept shooting flame at me."

"You've got burns on your face," said Angua, touching his face. "When we get back I'll get you some ointment."

"I still have some of the stuff Lady Sybil gave me," volunteered Vimes.

"Thank you, sir," said Carrot. "I appreciate that. I obtained a piece of valuable evidence, though." He held out a piece of hair. "We were struggling and I managed to grab this."

Vimes took an evidence bag out of the pocket of his coat. He usually carried some spare ones around just for this.

"Good going, Carr- Captain," he said. "Let's get back and see to your wounds."

They had a brainstorming session when they'd got back and patched everyone up.

"He's got to be using a lot of fuel with that jetpack as well as the ignition device," said Vimes. "Surely we can track down someone buying that much lighter fluid."

Angua wrote this down dutifully. "Lighter fluid," she said. "Or some other kind of combustion agent. Who would know what kind would work best?"

"Cheri," said Vimes. "That reminds me that I've got to go talk to her. She might have the test results, or at least something we can use. And I'd better get this hair to her and see if she can get someone to test it. Maybe he'll have a record."

Angua nodded. "Okay, so we check with Cheri on what types of combustion might be used, and then we check out who's been buying a lot of them. Where do you get that sort of thing in this town?"

"I'd go for someplace in the Shades," said Carrot. "He wants to be inconspicuous. He's not going to go over to the local chemist's and buy three gallons of their best, is he?"

"No," said Vimes. "You're right. The Shades. I'll send someone in to have a look."

"The new recruit," said Angua. "Some legwork to get him on his feet. The tall skinny one."

"Wizzard," said Carrot helpfully. "Yes, and he can run very fast, so we'll have the results sooner. Good thought."

"All right, then. I'll go see Cheri, and you rustle up the new recruit. You always know everyone's schedules, I don't know how you do it. Then go on home, it's getting on towards dawn."

"It's just a question of paying attention to people," said Carrot, going out.

Vimes shook his head. "Quite a talent that lad has," he said to Angua.

"Yes," said Angua with a small smile. "It's quite extraordinary."

"You're, er, doing all right? With the...new circumstances?"

"Yessir."

"Good. Good. That's good." Vimes patted the evidence bag in his pocket. "I'll just go and see Cheri, then."

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

 

"As near as I can come," said Cheri as he walked with her towards her apartment, "It's organic."

"What is?" Vimes was walking slow; Cheri had very short legs, and he didn't want her to be jogging to keep up with him. But walking was better, because it meant they could claim they'd just seen each other on the street and stopped to say hello. For this reason, Vimes had stopped off at home to change into street clothes.

"The thing that was used to start the fire."

"So...what does that mean?"

"Well, I wasn't sure, but I asked a couple of other people around the lab. In a hypothetical sort of way, you know how you do it." She shrugged. "A lot of them know I work with you already, some of them ask how they can help. But I want to be able to keep things quiet."

"Right."

"Anyway, my colleague Igor said there's this lizard that breathes fire and it's probably a sort of...distillation of their glands. You probably couldn't get it in a store, you'd have to order it online." Cheri bit her lip. "I'm really not sure where, though. I'd never even heard of fire-breathing lizards. He said it was someone's family project."

Vimes sighed. "I think I know the family."

"Who?"

"The Ramkins."

"The Ramkins? Here?"

"Yes. Lady Sybil keeps them."

Cheri's mouth formed an o. "Really?"

"Yep."

"I can't believe I've never seen them. I've been in this city for years."

"I know what you mean. If it works out," said Vimes, "I'll introduce you. I'm sure she'd be happy to show them off. She seems quite passionate about the things."

"Huh," said Cheri. "Please do, if you can. I'd be fascinated."

"Here's your place," said Vimes. "Thanks for the information. Don't know what we'd do without you."

Cheri smiled shyly. "I'm glad I can be useful. Have a good day, sir."

"You too."

 

He waited till the next evening to see Lady Sybil, partly so he could sleep a bit but also partly out of vague apprehension. He felt the need to fortify his defenses against her relentless jollity,

The door to the Ramkin house was bigger from the outside; funny how he'd never noticed that before, but then, he'd never had to stand outside it and ring the bell before.

It sounded distant and hollow as he pulled it. And also, who still had an old-fashioned pull bell? Rich people, that was who. Gods, he hated rich people. He was still frowning when the butler opened the door, so he increased his frown for good measure. The butler raised an eyebrow.

"I'm Watchman," Vimes said. "I'm here to see Lady Sybil. I know it's late, but I thought I'd check and see if she was available."

"And who shall I say is calling?"

"Watchman," Vimes repeated.

"A name?"

"That is the name. I'm - it's a pseudonym, okay?"

The butler raised his other eyebrow at him and oiled off across the floor. Vimes scowled at the door and poked his head inside to get a look round.

Yep. Just as fancy as before. Astonishing, really, when you remembered that the owner spent all her time around dragons.

The butler oiled back, shoes squeaking on the posh tile. "Her ladyship will see you. She is around back. Shall I take you?"

"I can find my own way," said Vimes grimly, and tramped over to the underbrush on the side of the house. The foliage was rather impressive, actually; he'd never seen so many bushes on a single house, and several of them had thorns, pulling at this trousers and coat as he fought through them. It was like fighting through the jungle to find a rare lost treasure, and in the circumstances it seemed a disappointment to merely come upon a large yard with a lot of sheds and pens around.

Lady Sybil was in the middle of it, taking off a pair of thick, quilted gloves. "Hello!" she said, beaming at him. "Nice to see you again. I see you've masked yourself up good and proper this time."

"Um, yes," said Vimes. "I've just got some questions for you."

"Pertaining to your recent investigation?"

"Yes."

"How exciting." She put the gloves aside and came forward, shaking him warmly by the hand. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"That would be quite nice, actually."

"Jolly good. Do come in, it's just across here." Vimes followed her back into the house and on into a small parlor, where she pressed down a small button and said into the intercom, "Tea please, Willikins."

She caught him staring. "We're very modern around here," she explained, fidgeting a bit. "Intercom system connected all over the house. That was no-one has to go fussing around with any bells."

"Oh," said Vimes weakly. Well, at least the pull bell system wasn't repeated all over the house. He sat in wooden silence for a while, waiting for tea until, to his horror, something climbed up into his lap.

"Um," he said, staring fixedly ahead.

"Oh, has Windle Featherstone Goodboy III got to you? He does that to everyone. He's an old soppy really. Ah, tea's here. Just push him off if he's a bother, only do be careful of the drool, it's a bit chemical. Milk? Sugar?"

"Er, milk and two sugars, please."

"There you are, then." She pushed a teacup across to the stricken Vimes, and sat back with her own. "Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?"

Vimes took the tea gingerly. He didn't feel any chemical burns so far. That was probably good, wasn't it? Did it numb you first? He tried to surreptitiously determine if there was any feeling in his legs  by wiggling his feet, but lizardly weight was impeding the exploration. Bugger.

"There's been several incidents," said Vimes, getting back on track. "Around the city. Things being set on fire from on high."

Lady Sybil's regal face creased in confusion. "I can see why you might come to the conclusion you have," she said, "But I can assure you my dragons are far too small -"

Vimes waved a hand. "It's nothing like that," he said. "We know it's a human doing it. Or something human-shaped, anyway. But he's using a jetpack and a flamethrower, and our technician analyzed a bit of a fuel and said it was organic. I thought you might be able to tell me about that."

The frown darkened. "Indeed I can," she sniffed. "That sort of thing gets right up my nose, I don't mind telling you. Using innocent dragons like that."

"Like what?"

"They breed them and then they extract the...flame-essence," said Lady Sybil. "It's a bit more complicated than that, but basically that's the process. Anyway, the extraction is quite, quite potent as an incendiary substance, you can dilute it with three parts ammonia and the end result is truly awful.  There are people who breed dragons just for the purpose. When I find them, I get them arrested. It's illegal and immoral." She set her teacup down with a clatter. "If he's using that, he's got to have a supplier near or in the city. And I will find out who it is."

"That's very admirable," he said helplessly. "Er, but I thought dragons were your dad's project? Have they gone so far?"

"Oh, he used to give out breeding pairs like candy. Wanted his invention appreciated, I suppose." Lady Sybil smiled a little sadly. "Wouldn't have been any good otherwise, would it?"

"If they're so common, why aren't they common knowledge?" Vimes frowned. "I'd never heard of them."

"It's a bit specialized. If you were interested in lizards you'd have heard of them. I take it you're not?"

"Not really my area," Vimes admitted. "All right. So, there's every possibility that this person could have got one of these from a source that wasn't stolen from you, or something."

"Oh, yes, but he can't be doing the extract himself. Or, well, probably not. You have to have a big place to have enough dragons, and the chemical process really is terribly complex. Someplace outside the city supplying it to him, I should think."

"Hmmm," said Vimes. "Well, that helps."

"I'm glad I was able to assist you with your inquiries," she said. "Perhaps you'd care for a tour of the dragon pen?"

"I, erm," Vimes began.

"That way it'll be easier to recognize if you do find the farm," Sybil added. "The smell is rather distinctive."

This did not sound promising to Vimes, but he agreed, because it was a good point and she had been kind enough to give him tea. Anyway, she seemed to want to show it off. It beat him why, but he didn't like to disappoint her. Probably didn't get many new people to show it to.

"I still have this dragon in my lap though," he added.

"Ah, yes." Lady Sybil stood up and picked the dragon up from its spot under the table. "A good start. This is Windle Featherstone Goodboy III. I think I said. He's a whittle."

"A what?"

"Doesn't breathe fire, barely even flies. Sort of a reversion, really. A failure in terms of breeding. I keep him around, though, because he's unlikely to explode. Good housepet."

"What was that last bit?"

"Good housepet?" said Lady Sybil.

"No, before that."

"Oh, some of them explode," said Lady Sybil, striding out towards the pen. "Side effect of the chemical processes that allow them to breath fire. Happens if they get startled."

"...is this safe?" Vimes asked, following her out to the pens.

"It's fine. Don't worry." She handed him a helmet. "Just wear this and you'll be fine, no worries whatsoever."

Vimes put the helmet on, wishing he hadn't left his hat on a hook inside.

"There, now." Sybil opened the pen door. "Perfectly safe. Come inside."

Vimes did, venturing cautiously. She was right, there was a distinctive smell. The overwhelming feature of it was not stink, but corrosiveness; it felt like the insides of your sinuses were being scorched. It was like someone had drained chemical waste into their compost pit for thirty years. He certainly wouldn't be forgetting that in a hurry.

"Now," said Lady Sybil, picking up a dragon. "You can see they're a bit like Komodo monitors, except they've got fire glands instead of poison. I won't go over the details of how that works, because I don't expect you'd find it terribly interesting. They can develop all sorts of problems, though. For instance, there's blowback, which is when the dragon's own flame is sort of forced back inside and, well, explosions result. Explosions result from most dragon diseases," she added.

"Not exactly perfected yet," said Vimes, looking at the pens.

"No. And my father took all his notes with him, too." Lady Sybil sighed. "I'm trying to breed for health, but there's only so much you can do when the poor things are have the odds stacked so badly against them."

"Yeah," said Vimes, feeling a sudden kinship with the dragons. An entire species created by humans out of sheer vanity, more likely to explode than live to see their old age. Oh, yes. They were all whittles, the lot of 'em, and it wasn't even their fault. He shook his head. "Anyway, what do you need to raise a dragon? Anything we could track?"

Lady Sybil put a hand to her chin. "Well, to get the amount of fuel he's got to be using, you'd have to have a lot of food. Dragons eat a lot of charcoal, it's good for their digestion. I've got informants on all the big charcoal purchases in the city, though, that's how I stop illegal breeding rings."

"Perhaps someone's, I don't know, embezzling it?" Vimes shrugged. "Got a friend at a charcoal-burning plant that smuggles it out to them?"

"Could be. Oh, you'd need lots of space, too, you can't have male dragons all cooped up next to each other or they'll have a fight and probably - "

"Explode?"

She smiled at him. "Quite. You do catch on fast."

"The theme isn't hard to pick up," he said. "What about burn ointment?"

"You may be on to something there. I certainly go through it in bulk, and if you had several people working on the farm, it might be a significant amount."

"Well, thank you," he said, nodding at her. "You've been very helpful. I appreciate your input. I have to go back to work now. Urgent business."

"Of course. Let me show you out."

Vimes took off his helmet and hung it back where she'd got it from. Inside, his hat and coat were waiting for him; he put them on, feeling like he'd donned more armor.

"Do come back any time you have the urge to see some more dragons," said Lady Sybil, smiling at him almost shyly.

"Er, yes. I'll do that. If I need to see any more dragons."

"Or if you have any more questions."

"Of course," he said backing out the door.

"Or if you just want to have tea," she added. "There can't be that many opportunities for pleasant afternoons out in crimefighting."

"No. No, erm, there aren't," said Vimes, nearly tripping over the doorstep. "I'll just - go, then, shall I? Goodbye."

"Good day to you," she said, shutting the door. He stumbled out.

Was she...was she asking him...she was a posh lady! She didn't need to be asking failed coppers like him out for tea. This had to be some sort of mistake. He kept casting glances back to the house, expecting something sinister to happen, like a huge explosion. Posh ladies flirting with Sam Vimes had to be a sign of the end times.

He made it back to the Guardhouse in time to catch Angua. "I've got a request for you," he said. "See if you can find out who purchases the most burn ointment in this city."

"Burn ointment?"

"For dragon-related accidents."

"Ah. Will do." Angua saluted and went out the door.

Vimes went back to his desk and sat for a while, doing more paperwork. He was knackered even though the night was still quite young. It was probably mostly still the wounds, although the Lady Sybil-induced confusion and the dragons had likely played a part as well. His trousers still smelled vaguely chemical, although they seemed to be intact.

Hmmm. Dragons. You'd definitely need complicated distillation equipment for that stuff...what else... Of course if they weren't buying it in the city it'd be no good to them. What was something you did have to buy in the city?

The ammonia might be hard to get out in the stalks of Sto Helit. He made a note to research that next. Now, what else?

Sleep, that was what he needed. He could just lay his head down right here and have a bit of a nap. Rank hath its privileges and so forth. Yes, just a short refr...

 

Angua was shaking him awake and he sat up, panicked. "What's up?"

"There was another fire, sir."

"What?"

"It's been taken care of, don't worry. The fire brigade got there in time, actually. But I thought you might like to come while we have a look at the scene."

"Right, right," said Vimes groggily. "That's right. Good. Where is it?"

"Out in the Shades again."

"Okay." Vimes rubbed his eyes and pushed his mask back into place; it'd got crooked during his nap. "Okay, let's go."

There were several blackened buildings, but true enough, it wasn't too bad. The buildings were still standing.

"Everyone got out?" he said.

"Yes."

"That's not the Dragon's style."

"Has been lately," said Angua.

"Maybe we're getting better at catching his pattern," Vimes suggested.

Angua nodded. "Perhaps so."

There wasn't much around the scene, though. The Dragon was long gone, and the shells of blackened houses didn't have much to say. At least, not much that he could extract. Probably the people down Cheri's way could tell plenty.

"Let's get back," he said. "Thanks for waking me."

"Wasn't much help," said Angua.

"Yeah, but I'd have wanted to see it anyway." Vimes turned back the way they'd come. "Shall we?"

Angua nodded. Then she lifted her head, sniffed the air, and started running.

Vimes had no idea what she was running after, but he trusted her instincts. He took off after her, pounding down the little alleyways and the cobbles that led up to the Guardhouse, which -

\- was on fire. Vimes's vision went white at the edges, his pulse pounding from more than the run. He charged into the building, Angua just behind him, and tore at the trapdoor. It was stuck, but the two of theme pulled and pulled until it flew open, knocking him backwards onto the floor. He didn't bother standing up, just dropped straight down into the headquarters, coughing through the smoke. He fell hard onto the wood floor beneath him.

"Out through the tunnels!" he yelled, getting to his feet. "The building up above is on fire! Go, get out!"

How much time did they have to evacuate before the roof fell in and the floor collapsed? Could everyone get out through the sewer tunnel in time? Detritus grabbed three people and hauled them out towards the back door. Carrot herded several others out - was that everyone? Where was Zombie? He was always here at this time of day.

"Reg!" called Vimes, running down the hall. "Reg, we've got to get out! There's a fire!" The smoke was starting to fill up the hall, and he coughed again, throat rasping. "Come on!"

Finally a grey head appeared from a door. "What was that?"

Vimes grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, we've got to get out the tunnels."

When they got back to the main room it was clear except for Angua and Carrot. With Reg in tow, they ran down the long tunnel into the cool darkness of the underground city.

There, Vimes felt he could breath a little. "All right," he said. "Did everyone get out?"  
"Yessir," said Carrot. "They're safe, as far as I can tell."

"Good. Let's get back up to the surface and try and stop this fire."

They emerged from a manhole on the Easy Street side, and Carrot took off to find the volunteer fire brigade.

It took several hours to stop the fire, even with help from the official section of the city. By the time it was over, Vimes felt ready to drop, but he wasn't done yet. Who was his nearest senior officer?

"Angua, with me," he said. "I need your help."

He couldn't see a figure in the sky. This could have been an accident, a tea kettle mishap, but he strongly doubted that.

"This was the Dragon," he said, rubbing charcoal-blacked hands across his face.

Angua nodded."We'll get him," she said.

"I know," Vimes said, sighing. "I'm just wondering how many more people he'll kill and how many more lives he'll ruin before we do."

Angua said nothing. It could have been a meaningful silence, but there was a tension that belied that notion. He glanced at her, and saw she was leaning forward in the attitude he'd come to know as fight-or-flight.

"Smell something, Lieutenant?"

She nodded and then, without warning, knocked him to the ground. He was expecting the world to explode into flame but it didn't; instead, something swooped down and landed in front of them. Angua got up, snarling. "Out of juice, are you?" she demanded, advancing. "I could smell you pumping your gas into the air. And now what?"

Vimes got up and followed, hands balled into fists.

The Dragon raised his nozzle towards them and fired again; Vimes ducked but nothing came out except a dreadful smell and a feeling that the hair on his eyebrows was rapidly disappearing. She was right, then; he was out of juice, at least for throwing. The fire had been good for something, then.

Vimes smiled, and attacked.

It was by no means easy, even without the flame; the armour was difficult to work around, but there were weak places in the neck, he discovered, and near the joints. Angua, wolf-shaped now, went for the neck just as Vimes jerked back from another foul-smelling attempt at a blast. The Dragon knocked her off with the nuzzle, but she got back up and growled. While he was distracted Vimes tackled him.

The Dragon didn't go down, but he did stagger, turning his attention from Angua and back to Vimes. He swept ineffectually with his nozzle as Vimes squeezed, trying to wrestle him to the ground.

Angua tackled him from the other side and brought them both down, the Dragon landing heavily on Vimes before Vimes flipped him over and pinned him, stomach to the ground. No time to relax; the man was wiggling like a fish and there was a smell of gas -

He leapt off just in time as the jetpack fired and the Dragon took off. Vimes got ahold of one of his feet and hung on for several feet, dangling precipitously; his stomach dropped even at the couple of feet of height between him and the pavement, but he hung doggedly on with both hands. The Dragon kicked and wavered, trying to take off, the extra weight dragging him down.

A kick scraped too close at his hands and he let go, breath _whooshing_ out in a painful rush as he hit the ground. He lay there for a little while, catching his breath.

Angua came up behind him, human-shaped again judging by her footsteps.

"Nasty fall, sir," she opined.

"Yeah," he wheezed. "Almost had the bastard."

"Did you get burned when the jetpack went off?"

"Nope." He sat up. "Got off him in time. Pity I can't fly."

"We could have used Carrot on this," Angua agreed.

"Mmm. Well, he can't be everywhere." Vimes got to his feet. "What do you suppose that was all about?"

"Not sure. You'd think he'd have I'm surprised he tried to take us after he realized his fuel was gone," Angua said, making a face. "He must've known he couldn't beat us in that armour. Not two of us. It's a bit odd."

"I think he was hoping to get me with the jetpack." Vimes shrugged. "He almost did, actually. Well, let's be off. We've got a lot to clean up."

As they were walking back, something caught Vimes' eye. What was that? A flash of white? He bent down. It was some sort of tag or piece of paper. Receipt, perhaps? What was the Dragon doing with a receipt? Not a very supervillanous item, and how hadn't it been burnt? Coincidence?

Vimes was grimly suspicious of coincidence. It'd probably been stuck to his foot, or something. He examined it carefully. A receipt from a chemist's down the street from the Watch. Tallow's Chemist. Hmmm. A bit convenient. Well, had the Dragon been buying his necessities, or had it been an old receipt lying on the ground? It didn't necessarily mean anything, but better to follow up…

"What've you got, sir?" said Angua. He showed her.

"It was on the ground," he said. "I think it might have been from the Dragon."

"I'll have it investigated, shall I?"

"Right." He gave it to her and she tucked it away in the pocket of her uniform.

"Very good eyes you must have," she said casually. "To spot it lying in a dark corner on a night like this. I'd have only just noticed it, and you know what my night vision is like. I can't think how you saw it."

"Luck," said Vimes. "It was lying in a patch of moonlight."

"Funny, that," said Angua. "It's a moonless night."

Damn. It'd been such a good story, too.

"Starlight?" he offered hopelessly.

"Cloudy, sir."

"Oh, well, it was worth a try."

"You don't have to tell me," Angua said, shrugging. "I mean, technically speaking, you could just order me to forget about it."

"I wouldn't do that to you. Just...don't talk to anyone else about it. Please. I'd rather not discuss it."

"Just as you say, sir."

"Thanks."

"We've all got secrets," said Angua.

"Isn't that the truth," Vimes said, sighing. "Here's hoping we can bust open at least one of someone else's."

"Right."

They got back to the Guardhouse just as Vimes' new bruises started really complaining. He decided to go home; it was nearly dawn, and he'd certainly pulled a full shift. He sent Angua home, too; the skeleton day patrol could handle any new information that came through and keep him updated.

He went to bed gratefully. One thing you could say about this sort of work - it kept you from lying awake at night (or during the day, in his case) wondering what your future was going to be like. You just didn't have time.

Vimes was out like a light before he could finish wondering what the Dragon's receipt would mean for the investigation.

 

The next night when he went into work, there was finally good news. "We've got the reports," said Carrot. "That piece of paper you found was a chemist's."

"Right. It's just up the road, yes? Have they been selling a lot of ammonia or burn ointment?"

"No, and that's the strange thing, because we sent a runner around to ask for it and they didn't have much. So we think they're probably shifting them both off." Carrot smiled. "In other words, we finally have our link!"

Vimes nodded. "All right. Shall we go check them out?"

"Right you are, sir. Shall I fetch Angua?"

"Yes, and bring along Detritus as well. He could definitely come in handy if someone tries to set someone on fire."

Carrot nodded, and went to round up the crew.

Vimes rubbed his hands. Finally.  He was rather hoping the shop would belong to the Dragon himself, but at the very least, they had to have some kind of link. There was no such thing as coincidence.

It did make him suspicious that this had happened so soon after the fire - wasn't that a bit easy? - but that was the trouble with policework. You lost the ability to stop asking questions. It couldn't hurt to have a look.

The four of them went along to the chemist's in full costume. It was shut, obviously, but there were still lights on.

Moments like this were tricky. You couldn't just bust your way in; that wasn't on. It was violation of the law, and Vimes tried really hard not to do that, given his own unofficial standing. Well, any laws that made sense and were there for the protection of the common people, anyway. Curfew didn't count.

The point was, you had to be tactful.

He had Detritus do the knocking, because a big fellow like him made an impression and a stone foot was hard to close the door on.

A small man opened the door suspiciously. "Hello?" he said, peering out, and his gaze ran into the middle of Detritus.

"Oh," he said. "Um. What are you?"

"We're the Guard," said Vimes, stepping forward. "We'd like to have a chat."

"You've got no legal authority," said the man.

"None whatsoever," said Carrot. "If you tell us to go away I'm afraid we must."

Behind him, Angua grinned; Vimes didn't see it but he could tell by the way the man's eyes darted towards her and then very quickly away and towards the ground.

"Well," said the man, "Can't be any harm in it. Come in, won't you? We're just...having a poker game. Yes. A poker game."

They were lead into the front room, Detritus stooping to fit inside the doorway.

"Interesting form of poker," said Vimes as five other heads turned to look at him. "No cards."

"We were just getting ready for the next round." The small man was making faces at the others. Play-along faces. Ah, perfect.

"Well," said Vimes, "perhaps you'll deal me in."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," the man at the head of the table said stiffly. Vimes eyed him.

"Very well," Vimes said, pulling up a chair. "Let's just chat, then. What's your name?" He nodded at the apparent de facto leader.

"Watchtower." The man glanced at the other members of the party as he said it. Aha. Not quite trusting his companions yet. False name?

Angua and Carrot sat down too, right next to two more of the men. Angua grinned again at the one next to her, whose eyes widened.

She was good at bad cop, he had to admit.

"What is it you'd wanted to talk about?" said Watchtower. "We're just here playing poker."

"Fewer than the maximum," put in the smallest of the men.

"Past curfew," said Vimes mildly.

"Surely you wouldn't enforce that. You're out too."

"Oh, no. Just pointing it out."

"We're here to enforce some other things," said Angua, examining the point above his head. "Citizens being burned to death, just for example. You know."

Three of the six had gone twitchy. The other three were better at bluffing.

"Quite," said Vimes. "Been rather a problem with fire in this city lately."

"It's the hot summer."

"It's fall," said Carrot helpfully. "Almost winter."

"Yes, well, there was a hot summer. Perhaps the aftereffects," said the speaker.

Detritus spoke up from his corner, in his reliable way.

"It was you what done it," he opined.

It wasn't the most original interrogation technique but he had a way of sticking to it that drove people to confessions they wouldn't have had torn out of them any other way. Something about the bloody-minded persistence got right up your nose.

"We never!" said someone. Watchtower glanced in the direction of the speaker, startled.

"I don't even know what you say we did," he said, scowling. "You've got nothing."

"I'm sure you've heard the news," said Carrot. "There's been someone actually setting fires in this city. Can you imagine? Of course, perhaps my colleague is jumping the gun a bit. I'm sure a man such as yourself - "

"It was you what done it, own up," interjected Detritus.

"- wouldn't contemplate this course of action." Carrot had raised his eyebrows to create a slight air of concern. The brooding menace of Detritus patiently waiting a confession undercut the benignity of this. Vimes, suddenly immensely proud of his crew, only just stopped himself from grinning.

"We have no idea what you're talking about," said one of the more nervous ones amongst them.

"I do," said Watchtower. "I've heard. Awful stuff. But that can't have to do with us? We're just playing poker. Surely," he added.

"Surely," Carrot echoed, producing a notebook and writing this down. "Surely, Lady Lupine."

"Surely," agreed Angua.

The imperious man glared at them both. "You're making fun of me," he said.

"Oh, no," said Carrot. "Never. We're just trying to get to the bottom of this."

"Be better if we didn't have to dig," said Vimes, leaning back on his chair. "We might not discover any illegal dragon farming, if we didn't have to dig."

Two of the former cool customers had gone stiff. Ah, yes.

Watchtower was looking shifty, but hadn't cracked quite yet. "Dunno what you're talking about," he said. "Dragons. Never heard of any dragons."

"Surely," said Angua solemnly. He gave her an irritated glance.

"We know it was you what done it," Detritus said again. "We got witnesses who say dey saw you do it."

"You can't possibly," began one of the twitchy ones.

"Because we didn't do anything," snapped Watchtower. "We're innocent."

"Perhaps you could explain to me why your store has such a dearth of ammonia?" said Carrot politely. "I'm sure that would clear everything up."

"Eh?" said the small one. "What?"

"We sent a runner asking for ammonia. She reported you had none."

"What were you going to do with it?"

"Fertilize some fields," said Carrot.

The small man gave him a suspicious look. "Well, as it happens we've had a lot of people who wanted to fertilize their fields, all right?"

"Could you perhaps verify that? Records and so forth?"

"What? What?" The small man's eyes shifted back and forth. "You're not the police, you can't ask me that."

Carrot sighed. "I can, of course, ask," he said. "I am a simple citizen of this city. Free speech dictates that I can ask anything I like. However, you are equally free to refuse." He shook his head. "And then I'm afraid *I* would have to go away."

The slight emphasis on I didn't go unnoticed. Half the group's gaze flicked to Detritus, and the other half flicked to Angua.

She smiled at them again. Detritus took the opportunity to put his oar in again.

"Own up," he said.

The small man coughed nervously. "Er, perhaps we should - "

"Never mind that," said Watchtower. "You can't prove nothing. Get out, all right?"

"He made us do it! We were made to do it!" the small man burst out. Watchtower's head whipped around.

"Godsdammit, Fingers, I'm the Acting Supreme Grand M- " He stopped and clapped his hands to his mouth.

Angua stood up abruptly. "Someone's coming," she said. Watchtower's eyes widened.

"No," he said, "We had this under control, we had this - "

The Dragon burst into the room, flamethrower blazing. He turned it on the small man first. Vimes dived towards him, but too late; the man was burning bright as a torch. Angua ran towards the burning man with a curtain she'd torn off,  batting out the flames; Carrot started evacuating the rest of the room, Detritus shielding him.

Vimes got ahold of the flamethrower and tried the tackling bit again. This time, though, he tore at the jet pack's straps they went down. They were a sturdy material, but Carrot tossed him his sword; Vimes grabbed it from the floor and started hacking. The Dragon turned his flamethrower towards him; he ducked towards the man's feet and knocked him down in the ensuing confusion. One strap was nearly sawn through; he hacked it off the rest of the way and started pulling, staying well out of the way of the jets themselves. The Dragon's hand was scrabbling frantically across his front, looking for the button probably, but Vimes kept elbowing him and then the pack was gone and they were both on the ground, rolling and kicking.

Detritus was above them, throwing the pack out the window.

"Got to go," he rumbled. "Place's gonna be on fire soon. Fine for me, not for you."

Vimes nodded. "Help me here - " but the Dragon was free. Vimes cursed and ran after him.

"See to the fire!" he called back to the others. "I'm following him!"

It was a long chase, but this time there was no sky for the Dragon to take off to. Vimes dogged his footsteps grimly, all the way to the Palace.

And then lost him in the little alley beside it, as he scaled the wall. Vimes tried to get up after him but he couldn't quite make it up to the first loose brick- the dragon was taller.

Damn. Vetinari? Well, he employed a lot of people, some quite clever. Vimes tried to charge in via the door, but a guard blocked him.

"No admittance without permission," he said.

"I think there's a dangerous criminal trying to get to the Patrician!" Vimes said. "I'm part of the Guard, let me in!"

"No admittance without permission," said the guard again. "I got no proof you're Guard."

"I'm the *head* of the Guard, you fool, and your boss is in trouble!"

"Ah, so you say," said the guard, "But I ain't heard - "

The alarm system sounded. Vimes gave him a triumphant look and charged in, all the way up to the Patrician's office. True, there were plenty of other hostages he could take, but why, when you could have Vetinari?

All around him people were yelling about emergency procedures and evacuating things, but he ignored them.

Vimes burst into the office and took a deep breath. Yes, there he was, and oh, Vetinari had a sword-stick out and was slashing at him. The Dragon was dodging aptly, but that might not last long. Vimes plunged in to help.

Too late. The Dragon got Vetinari trapped with the flamethrower. Was it still out of fuel? Not worth risking.

"You both come with me," he said. It was the first thing Vimes had heard him say, and now he knew why. The voice was familiar. Now, where...

"Wonse," said the Patrician icily. "Were you displeased with your working conditions you could have resorted to less extreme measures to inform me of this."

The Dragon laughed.

"This city," he said, "needs a ruler. And you won't do it. Well, if you won't, I will, and I'll be better at it than you were."

"You forget that we already have a ruler," said Vetinari. "I think he would not take kindly to being deposed."

The Dragon waved the flamethrower nozzle. "He needn't," he said. "Just as you needn't take kindly to being held hostage. Now come. Both of you."

He took them up across the roof, but to Vimes' surprise and vague relief, there was no flying, just a loft.

"And now," said Wonse, "The rest of the plan."

He set the stairs on fire with clear satisfaction. Apparently he'd refueled in the palace. Good thing Vimes hadn't tried anything, then.

When the stairs seemed to be burned to his satisfaction he strolled over to a shed, and returned with a fire extinguisher and a new jetpack. He put the flames out and pulled the jetpack onto his back.

"Now," he said, "I'm leaving for a moment. Final piece of the plan. I'll be back. Don't try any escape attempts; the only way to leave this roof now is to fall or fly, and you can't fly. I'll see you again when I return, and then I'll discuss my demands."

Wonse jumped off the roof. Vimes harbored a grim hope that his new jetpack would malfunction, but no such luck.

Vetinari watched the proceedings calmly.

"You all right, sir?" Vimes asked, turning back to him.

"I am uninjured."

Silence. Vimes had never actually been alone with Vetinari in a non-business context. He also wasn't sure what the appropriate topic of conversation was between fellow hostages. You couldn't just go, soo, how about that kidnapping? Professional, eh? Anyway, it hadn't been.  

"Looks as though you'll need a new secretary," he ventured.

"So it would seem."

"Any thoughts on an escape attempt?"

Vetinari settled back on to a patch of roof. "Not thus far," he said. "At present, this is the safest place we could be."

Vimes gave him an unimpressed look. "Is it?" he said.

"Of course. We are valuable. The Dragon won't kill us, because we're his greatest bargaining chip. And we are also in a position to stop him; he'll have to put down the flamethrower sometime. The important thing at this juncture is not to aggravate him."

"And supposing he decides we're no longer valuable?" Vimes said.

"I will convince him we are." Vetinari folded his hands in his lap. "In the mean time, I recommend getting some rest so that you'll have your full strength should we have time to disarm him."

Vimes shook his head. What must it be like to think that way all the time? And why wasn't Vetinari in charge of the city yet? Snapcase's regime wouldn't have stood a chance.

Vimes sat down, wincing as his knees complained. "Dawn's a while off yet," he said, "And it's cold. We ought to go inside the shed."

Vetinari nodded, and they made their way inside. There were a couple of chairs and a small bed; clearly Wonse had been using this loft as a hideout for a while. There was also, Vimes found, the means to start a small fire and a tin of tea.

Well, he'd be damned if he was going to be polite for the sake of his captor. Tea was the least they deserved.

He offered a cup to Vetinari, when it was done; to his surprise the man took it. Not to his surprise, he took it black.

They drank the tea while Vimes fumed quietly. He couldn't believe he'd got *kidnapped*. What kind of superhero was he? You weren't supposed to get kidnapped when you charged into the enemy's lair, you were supposed to have a showdown. Of course, he knew full well that life didn't work that way, and that you should never charge into the enemy's lair while he was there or at least awake, but still...

Hang on a minute. That receipt. It had led them straight to the chemist's, which the Dragon had burned down shortly after they'd got there. Had he set it up that way on purpose? Was that the explanation for the convenient receipt? Damn! That made it worse. Vimes had played right into his hands.

Which did, however, mean that the shop had certainly had some sort of direct connection Wonse was trying to eliminate. If Carrot and Detritus had managed to save some of the suspects, they might know about this place, which meant a greater chance of rescue.

It was never wise to rely on someone else to come to your aid unless you knew for sure they would, and Vimes was still intending to escape at the first opportunity, but he felt better all the same. He found himself dozing in his chair, exhausted from the events of the night.

 

Wonse returned shortly before dawn, the roar of his jetpack waking Vimes from his light sleep. He was sporting an ugly bruise on his forehead and another hostage.

It was Lady Sybil.

Vimes sat straight up. "Wonse!" he said, striding forward. "You cowardly streak of nothing, what are you thinking, kidnapping - "

"Not kidnapping, not kidnapping,"said Wonse gleefully, setting Lady Sybil down with a grunt. She was a large woman, probably taller than him and heavy; Vimes was pleased to see him reach for his back as if it pained him.

"His intention," said Lady Sybil, speaking for the first time through a dark and threatening glare, "Is to marry me."

"With the most powerful woman in the city as my bride, I shall certainly be ready to take my rightful place as ruler." Wonse rubbed his hands. "Rather neat, I feel."

"You can't marry me against me will!" Lady Sybil exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "It's not legally binding!"

Wonse held up the flamethrower. "Ah, but I can threaten you into it."

"That's still against her will," said Vimes, rolling his eyes. "Don't be daft. No one'd ever listen to you. They'd say, look at that bloke who kidnapped his wife, what a tosser, heave half a brick at him. That's what this city is like. You know it is."

"They would not! I would burn them to death first!"

"You can't burn everyone," Lady Sybil said with a haughty sniff. "And besides, Watchman says you're connected to a ring of dragon fuel makers. I can't condone that, even if I could condone burning half the city down, which I damn well can't, excuse my language. Put me back this instant."

Wonse sighed. "At every turn I am defied. Both of you, shut up. I'm going out again to demand my rightful place as ruler of the city." He rubbed his head, and glared at Sybil. "And something for this bruise."

She gave him a look of haughty unrepentance. "And stop drinking my tea," he added, glaring at Vimes.

When he was gone, Vimes offered Sybil a cup of the tea. She took it gratefully.

"Won't he be annoyed, though?"

"Bugger him. His lordship says we ought to avoid aggravating him but I figure a cup of tea is the least he owes me."

"Well, I find Havelock generally knows best about things like this," said Lady Sybil sipping her tea. "I'll try not to lecture him anymore."

"You flatter me, madam," said Vetinari from the corner.

"I forgot to say hello, by the way," she said, smiling at him. "I am sorry you've been dragged into this as well. Wasn't that your secretary?"

"It was. You might say that it's my mess, and you two have been dragged into it, rather than any other way around." He sipped at his cup. "And, it must be said, he has dreadful taste in tea."

"He certainly does," agreed Sybil. "I suppose you two have hatched an escape plan?"

"Not yet," said Vimes. "No stairs. Only way to do it is fly down, which I can't do."

"But surely that nice young man. Captain Justice?"

"He could, but it might be that the Dragon's got some way of keeping him away. Or maybe he just hasn't found us yet. Anyway, we're stuck for the moment."

Lady Sybil set her teacup down. "Well, I'm going to have a look around anyway," she said. "Perhaps there's something you missed, like an external ladder."

"Please feel free if it will ease your mind, dear lady," said Vetinari. "For myself, I intend to stay. He can't kill me without destroying a valuable commodity."

"Yes, well," said Sybil, "You're not faced with the prospect of marrying him. Will you come with me, Mr. Watchman?"

Vimes startled at the Mr. "Er, yes," he said, "If you like."

"I do."

It was still chilly out, though dawn was getting closer. Sybil walked the perimeter of the roof with Vimes trailing behind her, but there was no ladder and no trapdoors either.

"Well," she said, "I'll have to attack him. It's the only thing for it."

Vimes nodded. "You don't want to do that until you need to, though," he said. "Play along for as long as you can. We want him relaxed. Could you pretend to be resigned to your position?"

Sybil thought for a little while. "Ye-es," she said. "Provided I needn't kiss him or anything like that."

Vimes shuddered. "No, I think this is meant to be a strict business proposition. You could always tell him no kissing till time for the wedding. He ought to accept that. I mean, even if he's force-marrying you, he'll want to respect some of your boundaries because it's more likely you'll make his life less of a living hell later. Eh?"

"That seems logical. Unfortunately, I don't know if he's logical."

It was a fair point, but it was also the only plan they'd got.

"Okay," he said. "You go along with the marriage business. I'll go along with the hostage business. And when he gets ready to take you away you, I dunno, sock him in the nose or stuff a handkerchief in his flamethrower, and we'll all gang up and take him down."

Sybil nodded, determined. "Will Havelock go along with that?"

"Havelock? Oh, right. Not sure. Guess we'll find out." This was the second time he'd heard her calling the Patrician by his given name. It was odd; even using his surname minus its title to his face spoke of a familiarity which few could claim.

And here Sybil used his first name in casual conversation and when she was talking to him. Were they involved? None of his business, of course.

They went back inside to tell Vetinari about the plan, and found Wonse there.

"I did tell you to stop drinking my tea," he said, waving at the dirty cups. "Never mind. It's not important." He turned to Sybil. "The plan has been put into motion. You will marry me now."

Sybil gaped at him. "But this is so sudden," she said carefully. "Couldn't you, er, delay it for a while?"

"No, no. I'll need your status and money as soon as people to make people accept me. Only then will I be able to - " he stopped as a phone rang from his pocket. "One moment."

Vimes hurried over to Vetinari. "We have a plan," he hissed as quietly as he could, hoping Vetinari could read lips. "Sybil's going to play along and then we're going to take him out."

Vetinari  nodded. "We can hardly let Lady Sybil defend herself and stand back idly," he murmured. "On your signal, then."

"On my signal?" Vimes blinked. "I thought you'd want your signal."

"You're the experienced hero here. I am merely a civic dignitary."

Vimes had to work hard not to say 'ha' at this - he'd heard the rumors about Vetinari's education - but he acknowledged the point.

Wonse was still on the phone; Sybil was standing by, listening intently. Vimes crept up beside her.

"...won't negotiate for their return until you've given me what I ask for." Pause. "Well, you'll just have to trust me." Pause. "No, I'm afraid I couldn't do that, Captain. Everyone is safe." Pause. "Well, yes. I suppose that's acceptable." Wonse turned and found Vimes and Sybil. "Your Captain Justice" - he sneered - "Wishes to be reassured of your safety. Speak to him for a moment. Do not do any plotting. I will know."

Vimes took the phone. "Car- Captain?"

"Sir. Are you all right?"

"Fine. I'm fine. Everyone else is, too." Vimes eyed Wonse. "So far."

"You have Lady Sybil and Lord Vetinari with you, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Right. We know where you are but we can't fly up there and rescue you right now because he's got a sight advantage on us. We're working out a plan, though."

"Good to know." Vimes kept his face neutral, but his thoughts started racing. If he could count on Carrot to appear while they were fighting Wonse, that might help even things up some. "I think - " he began.

Wonse plucked the phone from his ear. "I think not," he said. "No plotting. You've had your time. Captain Justice, are you satisfied? Good. Then you'll ratify my terms, do you hear me?" Pause. "Good. And remember, I have line of sight in all directions up here and the light is returning. There will be no sneaking up on me." Wonse hung up, and nodded to himself.

"I'll just have a cup of tea, then," he said. "Is there any left of what you made?"

"I think so," said Vimes cautiously.

"Well, good. Come inside if you like, it's no good you freezing to death. You wouldn't be any good." Wonse waved his flamethrower and smiled. "Although I'm sure I could arrange to warm you up."

"Thanks," said Vimes, and went indoors.

Vetinari had found a book on the care and feeding of dragons and was reading it with apparent enjoyment. Some people. Sybil joined them a moment later, looking sombre.

"He still plans to go through with it," she reported. "Not this very instant, but...soon."

Vimes nodded. "All right, then. We'll have to -"

Wonse entered and Vimes finished "-make more tea if everyone wants some more. There's only just a cup left."

Wonse glanced at him, but didn't look suspicious. The key was not to stop talking when the person you were talking about entered the room; that was always cause for concern. They key was to continue smoothly on a completely different topic. It took practice, but Sam Vimes hadn't spent most of his life as a copper for nothing. You picked things up during interrogations.

"If it'll keep you lot quiet," said Wonse, "Drink the tea, then. I can get more when I'm ruler of this bloody city."

"I like a man with perspective," said Vimes, fetching the tea kettle. In fact, he did not want tea, because the future of lavatorial questions were weighing heavily on his mind. It wasn't pressing yet, but it would be eventually, and tea would only exacerbate that. He wondered vaguely how he could get out of drinking it without look suspicious.

"Give me a cup too, will you," said Wonse, leaning back in his chair. Vimes gave him a once-over - maybe he was relaxing his guard - but his hand still drifted occasionally to the flamethrower nozzle.

Vimes caught Sybil's eye as he made the tea, and she raised an eyebrow, coming over to sit beside Wonse.

"That's a lovely flamethrower you have there," she ventured.

Wonse's eyes narrowed as he watched her. "I made it myself," he said.

"How very impressive. Are you very handy around the house?" Vimes stifled a snort; she was trying to bat her eyelashes. Clearly a woman without much practice, as it was not going well. It looked like rapid-fire blinking.

"I'm good with mechanical things," Wonse acknowledged. "Why?"

"Oh, well, you know, one's husband, one likes to think that one won't be left to do all the work in the house," Sybil said.

"We'll have servants for that."

"Yes but a handyman is so attr...is so fasc...is so practical," Sybil said.

Wonse frowned at her. "I won't have any time for that sort of thing. I'll be ruling the city."

"Yes of course," said Sybil. "There is that. Of course. And will I, er, be able to help you?"

"Would you want to?"

"I wouldn't care to knock around the house doing nothing," Sybil explained. "I'd rather not just be a society wife."

"Don't you have your dragons?"

"Yes, but, dragons...they don't take up all the time..." Her mouth wrinkled up at the sides as she tried to force these words out. From what Vimes had seen of her house, dragons did take up quite a lot of her time. Perhaps she felt it was a betrayal to imply otherwise.

She was a champion, though. Slightly confused eyelash-batting and all. Vimes had to admire her. He'd never, for instance, have been able to pat Wonse on the hand, which she was doing right now. The man didn't react well; he jerked back and clutched his flamethrower. He was, in Vimes' opinion, far too attached to that thing.

"I knew it," he said. "This is what you've all been waiting for."

"No, no," said Sybil, somehow gentle rather than frantic. "I'm simply trying to get to know you better. I am going to be marrying you. We ought not be strangers to each other."

"I don't see why it matters," said Wonse. "It's pure political expediency."

"It needn't be," said Sybil. "We might grow to respect each other."

"Hmm. Perhaps." He eyed her disdainfully. "Perhaps. But no touching my person. I'm glad to see you have come around to the matter, however. Yes indeed. That will make it easier."

The kettle began to boil. Vimes looked at Vetinari and raised his eyebrows. Vetinari nodded very slightly.

He looked at Sybil, who met his eyes, looked at the kettle, and smiled.

Vimes emptied the kettle of boiling water over Wonse's head.

He screamed horribly, but reached for his flamethrower nozzle; Vetinari, moving like a shadow, came in with a small flat palm blade, but as Vimes grabbed for the flamethrower, flame spewed out of it and towards the Patrician.

Vimes hit Wonse a moment later, the two of them rolling on the floor of the shed. Vetinari was rolling himself, putting out the flames, and Sybil was splashing water from the sink over him. That was the last Vimes noticed of that episode, because Wonse was fighting back. There was a fist in his eye but he'd managed to get Wonse's flamethrower hand in a bone-crushing grip and hang on. An elbow hit him in the stomach and the breath rushed out of him but the next moment someone was kicking Wonse and shouting "Marry you, will I? Coming around, was I?"

Wonse wheezed and turned over. Sybil's foot caught him again on the turn, and Vimes hit him from the other side, landing him on his back. He choked.

"I am making a citizen's arrest," said Vimes, grabbing Wonse's arms as tight as he could manage. "Hold still."

"You can't do that! I was destined to rule this city! I will not bow to a - " Vimes' knee came down in his back, and he wheezed again.

"Too bad," said Vimes, "You have already. I'll thank you kindly to tell us how to get down."

"There's only flying," said Wonse, laughing. "Flying and falling. I wasn't joking."

"Oh, yes, and what were you going to do if your jetpack gave out?"

"Fall. Or fix it. I have supplies."

"What about medical supplies?" Sybil asked crisply. "Burn ointment. Bandages."

"Left cupboard."

Sybil rummaged until she dug out what she needed, and then she went to tend to Vetinari. Vimes continued clutching Wonse with the fervor of a man who knows that, should his captive get free, he will swiftly be crispy fried.

Trouble was, Wonse was a wiggly sort and Vimes could feel him plotting ways to get out of the grip of his hands.

"Lady Sybil," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Would you mind fetching this man's phone from his pocket? I don't wish to let go of him."

"Of course." She hurried over. "Would you like me to dial a number?"

"Yes." He gave her the Guard phone number. If Carrot wasn't there, someone who knew where he was would be.

And indeed, Lady Sybil was shortly talking to, by the sound of it, Reg Shoe.

"Yes, we're on the roof of the palace and we can't get off. He burned the stairs. We can't fly. Yes, all of us are non-fliers. You do? Well, please send him. Thank you." She turned to Vimes. "That nice young man you had with you the other day is coming to help us out."

"Thank gods," said Vimes, relaxing slightly.

Wonse made a sudden movement and Vimes redoubled his grip. "Hope he gets here soon," he added.

"Well," said Sybil, walking over to them. "Let me just see here." She examined the flamethrower.

"Have you scissors?" she asked Wonse. He remained sullenly silent, and she shrugged. "I'll just go and have a look. Ah, yes, here we are. In the medicine cabinet."

She returned and starting snipping wires busily. Vimes' eyes widened.

"Aren't some of those flammable? You could blow us all to kingdom come!" he hissed.

"Oh, no, don't worry. Dragon-fire fuel will burn hot and long, but not without some sort of agitation. The lines themselves shouldn't have fuel in them yet." She pointed to them. "You see how there's three chambers? Dragons have two different glands with two different substances they use to produce fuel. The combination is what makes them ignite. Now, you don't want that to happen till you're good and ready to burn something, so you set it up with one in each chamber and then a third for the ammonia, and they combine as they come out. Ingenious, really." She smiled a brittle smile. "Pity you had to use your mind for this sort of thing."

Vimes was staring at her, mouth open, as she continued to cut open the wires.

"There," she said, "I think we should be safer. No flamethrower. And now, if you don't mind, I'll go back to seeing to Havelock. It's not as bad as it could be but burns are nothing to sneeze at."

Vimes continued to stare. Wonse wiggled under him; Vimes tightened his hold almost by reflex, and watched as Sybil marched back over to the prone Vetinari and continued dressing his wounds.

He'd admired her strength of character before, but good gods, she was versatile. That was strength in and of itself. He hoped Vetinari appreciated her many facets, whatever their relationship was.

Carrot arrived just as Vimes' arms were beginning to go numb. Wonse jerked when he landed on the roof, and Carrot looked at him sternly.

"We're putting you under a citizen's arrest," he began, but Wonse cut in. "Yes, I know," he snapped. "Your compatriot here already did all that. Now please take me away from this twice-damned roof. I am so sick and tired of you all."

"As you wish," said Carrot, removing a little book from his pocket. Vimes groaned. He was really going to read him his rights. They didn't even have to read people their rights - they weren't coppers anymore - but Carrot did it anyway.

He slowly stood up, dragging Wonse along with him.

Carrot was lecturing about the right to fair treatment in prison, which Vimes had always thought a bit of a joke given the policies of Snapcase's lot but which Carrot insisted was still on the books. And then Wonse jerked, elbowing Vimes in the gut. Vimes only relaxed his grip for a split second, but it was enough.

The man broke free and ran out across the roof, launching himself off and pulling at the lever that started his jetpack, but the flame didn't come. His eyes widened and he fell down into open air.

There was a distant thud.

Sam, Sybil, and Carrot rushed over to the roof.

"Oh dear," said Sybil. "Perhaps I shouldn't have cut the lines to his jetpack as well as the flamethrower. I only wanted to keep him from using it as a weapon. Surely he knew it wouldn’t work anymore?"

"I think," said Vimes in a thoughtful tone, "That you did the right thing. Just...don't think of this as your fault. Perhaps he did know."

She nodded. "He did say fly or fall."

"Yes. Yes he did."

"This certainly complicates the matter of prosecution," said Carrot.

"I would say it simplifies it," said Vetinari from behind them. He'd raised himself to sitting position, though he was wincing. "Although I shall unquestionably have to find a new secretary now."

"Your lordship!" said Carrot, rushing over to him. Vetinari held up a hand.

"I am in an acceptable state," he said. "Lady Sybil's ministrations were quite effective. If you could get us down from here, please."

"Of course." Carrot bent down. "I'll take you first, if you don't mind. And then I'll radio for medical care."

"Excellent."

Carrot gingerly grabbed Vetinari and took off. Sybil smiled weakly.

"It doesn't quite seem real," she said. "You hear all about people flying around and rescuing people and everything, but it seems quite abstract till you're part of it."

"Got that right," he said, sighing. "I've been part of it for a while now and it still hits me hard sometimes. Here I am with these superhumans, and I've got nothing on them, really. Nothing but, a, well..." He glanced at his arm where the symbol was scarred under the clothes. "Not much, really."

"I never did learn what your powers were," she said.

"Oh. Nothing important. I see in the dark pretty well. I'm pretty good at telling when people are lying. I heal a bit faster, not much, but anything comes in handy in my line of work. That sort of thing." He shrugged. "Nothing as spectacular as flight or super-strength, which are two things the Captain over there has got."

"Very impressive," Sybil said. "I think I prefer your style, though."

"Yes, well," said Vimes, as Carrot returned. "His style's going to get you off this roof."

"Yes, but your style got me out of marrying a man who uses dragon fuel for nefarious purposes." She frowned. "I've still got to find out where he was getting it."

"We can help with that. We've got resources."

"Yes," said Sybil, turning her smile on him yet again. "I expect you do." She gracefully accepted Carrot's hand, and stepped off the roof like a Valkyrie flying to the battlefield. Carrot returned for him a moment later. "Quite a lady," Vimes said as they hovered to the ground, at a reassuringly slow speed.

"Lady Sybil?"

"Yes."

"Indeed, sir. A fine person to cultivate a friendship with."

"Bit intimidating," Vimes ventured.

"Nothing that can't be overcome by a little time spent together," Carrot said pointedly. Vimes found, to his horror and confusion, that his cheeks were heating up.

"Well," he said. "Maybe."

And then it was home for all of them, and bed. But he had one thing he had to take care of first.

"Your lordship!" he called, catching up to Vetinari, who was being loaded in an ambulance.

"Yes, Vimes? I do hope this will not take long. I am, as you see, injured." The calm tone belied the words.

"It won't." Vimes explained what he wanted. "It's important."

"Yes, I can see you feel strongly about the topic." Vetinari waved a hand. "Very well. Carry on with your plan. I shall be in hospital if anyone needs me."

"Right," said Vimes. That meant there was one more stop before home...

 

She was walking home when he caught up to her, and without thinking, he grabbed her arm. She stifled a shriek and turned around, but when she saw him she relaxed.

"You sneaked up on me, sir."

"Sorry, Cheri. You're right. It's been a long day."

"It's all right. Did you have something you wanted me to take a look at?"

"No." Vimes grinned a tired grin. "I have something *you* want you to take a look at." He held out the thick sheaf of paper in his hand.

"Sir." Cheri's eyes were wide, and her hands shook slightly as she took it. "Is this...?"

"A contract. I won't ask you to sign it now, you'll want to read it all and there's about sixty pages of it or something. Carrot drew it up, you know how thorough he is. Basically it means you work for us, you don't tell anyone anything, and if anyone harasses you they're out." Vimes drew a breath. "I had a bit of credit with his Lordship after this last job and I figured, we need you. Not just you working on our stuff in your own time, either. Full time." He shrugged. "We'll want you to head up your own little department, probably. If that's all right."

Cheri's eyes welled up with tears, to Vimes' alarm. Had he done something wrong?

"Thank you, sir," she said hoarsely. "This is...I'm so...thank you so much."

Vimes patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "You just go home and get some rest," he said. "And read that contract."

"Yes, sir," said Cheri, wiping her eyes. "You too, sir. About the rest, I mean. You look completely done in."

"Do you know," said Vimes. "I am."

He went home. It was definitely time for some sleep.

 

After that, there wasn't much. Carrot and Detritus had indeed saved several suspects, who led them to the rooftop perch and confessed their involvement in the entire business. One of them owned the dragon farm out in Sto Helit, a rather covert affair since the Duchess didn't approve; another owned the chemist's and had been supplying Wonse with the chemicals he needed. The rest had simply been financial backers.

"We wanted justice," said one of them at a later interrogation.

"You got people killed."

"Unimportant people," he had protested, and Vimes knew then that they were just as complicit in the Dragon as Wonse was.

Wonse probably had sold out his companions with the receipt, although since he was now squishy bits in the morgue nobody could interrogate him and find out. Carrot's guess was that the attack on the Guardhouse was meant to agitate them, keep them from thinking clearly, and that Wonse had perhaps hoped the Guard would kill his associates for him.

Clearly, he didn't know the Guard.

 

That was that, except one thing...

 

Vimes stood outside the incredibly heavy and fancy-looking Ramkin door for the second time in a week. Had it really been less than a week? It felt like twice that.

The door was answered, not by the butler, but by Lady Sybil herself. She burst into a smile when she saw him standing there and, perhaps unconsciously, patted her hair.

"Hello," she said. "Won't you come in?"

"I'm afraid I can't at the moment. A few things to do. I just wanted to stop by and see you were all right."

"I'm quite well, thanks to your efforts," she said cheerfully. "We're following some quite interesting leads on that farm. Thank you so much for sending over the file. And what an interesting little man who brought it."

"Yes, that's Nobby, if he's pinched anything we'll have it returned straight off."

"Oh, no." She raised her nonexistent eyebrows. "He was quite charming, really. Told me a jolly good joke."

Vimes tried not to think about Nobby's jokes. "Well, if everything's satisfactory, then, I'll just be going," he said. As he was turning away, Sybil caught him by the arm. Startled, he flinched, but recovered quickly.

"Mr. Watchman," she said. "Would you like to have dinner with me? To thank you for saving my life."

"I think we sort of saved each other," said Vimes. "All three of us, really. A joint effort."

"Yes, well, I can thank Havelock anytime. I know where he lives. And as for you, you could thank me by coming to dinner. I'm sure the pleasure of your company would be its own reward."

"But, er, you and Vetinari, er, won't he object?" he said, taking off his hat to cover his confusion.

Sybil raised her eyebrows. "I can't think why, it's not as though he has any say in what I do. Except insofar as he manipulates half the goings on in this city - " she sniffed - "But of course that doesn't involve my dinner plans. Usually, anyway."

"Aren't you two...?"

"Old friends," Sybil explained. "That hardly gives him a right to dictate my social plans."

"Old friends?"

"Yes."

"You call him by his given name."

Sybil nodded, smiling. "Yes, and I'm one of the privileged few. But we've known each other since primary school. Some things stick."

"Oh," said Vimes. Well, that cleared up the previous flirting mystery, anyway.

"Even if I was engaged to him or something of that nature," Sybil added after a moment, "I don't think I'd let him have a say in who I did and didn't have over to dinner. I wouldn't marry someone who didn't trust me." She smiled at him.

"Oh," said Vimes, clutching his hat in front of him. "Er. Oh."

"So? Dinner?"

And it seemed to Vimes that they'd done this before, that the world was holding its breath to see how it would go this time, that he was making a decision that would change his life - maybe for better and maybe for worse, but irrevocably. A sense of being carried away into something with all the inevitably gravity of a star.

What could he do? He was a battered ex-copper with a job that essentially boiled down to running around chasing criminals while both of them were in funny clothes. She was a posh society lady with enormous riches and a fulfilling life. What could she want him in it for?

And yet, and yet...did it matter? Could he afford to turn down something so...something so good? She had compassion and warmth in her heart to spare for the whole world two times over. Maybe she could find some for him.

"Dinner," he said. "Thank you, Lady Sybil."

"Please," she said. "Just call my Sybil."

"All right, then. And I'm Vimes. Sam Vimes."

She smiled again, and he felt the warmth of it rise up and carry him into her orbit.

And he knew as he was swept up that this wasn't an end.

It was a beginning.


End file.
